


Radiodust Week: The Good, the Bad, and the Eldritch

by AngeliaDark



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alastor is in Hell for a Reason (Hazbin Hotel), Alternate Universe, Angel Dust is in Hell for a Reason, Angst, Asexual Alastor, Dancing, First Time, Five-Foot Rule, Happily Ever After, Hell-Typical Violence, Intimacy, M/M, Partners in Crime, RadioDust Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:02:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24006295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeliaDark/pseuds/AngeliaDark
Summary: Radiodust Week challenge!Day 1: DancingDay 2: Alternate UniverseDay 3: AngstDay 4: First TimeDay 5: Intimacy AND Five-Foot RuleDay 6: Partners in CrimeDay 7: Happily Ever After
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 58
Kudos: 409





	1. Painting the Town Red

Soft, slow jazz played on the phonograph, hitches from the old record adding a timeless and memorable sound that the newfangled 'remastering' just couldn't invoke.

_A smile on my face_  
_A song on my lips_  
_Pretending is all I do_  
_I'm painting the town red_  
_To hide a heart that's blue_

It was a song just outside of his time, but it had the soul Alastor loved to hear. It was dealer's choice tonight anyway, and he very much preferred something gentle and smooth to take his time with. There was no rushing this, no urgency. Just slow, steady, relaxing fun.

He hummed along to the music, tipping his head to the side to rub his cheek over the soft fur of the face buried against his shoulder. 

Angel Dust smelled nice tonight, he thought; he'd told the spider as much earlier. Equal parts sweet and spicy, much like their combined taste palates, which made a thoughtful and amusing scent for moments such as this one. Sweet and spicy, combined as one, like their dancing.

Alastor's right arm was curled around Angel's waist, his left clasping the spider's primary right hand, gently stepping and swaying with the music in a romantic, almost peaceful gesture.

_I'm gay with the crowd_  
_I play with the crowd_  
_But oh, if they only knew_  
_I'm painting the town red_  
_To hide a heart that's blue_

It wasn't always romantic and peaceful, he mused. He was an old-fashioned man at heart, enjoying wining and dining over hanky and panky, and it took quite some time for them to get to where they were now. To have compromise on both ends. Granted, Angel Dust was more invested in actually making it work, to be honest. 

But Alastor could appreciate conviction.

A couple hours of talking, laying down rules and guidelines, and Alastor INSISTING that Angel Dust be presentable for their 'dates', they had a plan. 

And Alastor had an even BETTER one come time.

_Must I go on carrin' on?_  
_My merry song is just pretend_  
_Loving you so, wanting you so_  
_Where will it end, how will it end?_

It was so nice, being close to someone without having errant hands all over him, especially someone as soft and desirable as Angel Dust. He had agreed to close contact with the spider, but a little extra insurance never hurt. Granted, Angel probably wouldn't remember much if any of the night, but Alastor had his proof, inlaid with the promise of close contact, albeit perhaps not in the way the spider had imagined.

Alastor held Angel close, making a smooth, wide turn in their dancing, watching as Angel's head lolled to the side exposing a torn-out throat and a stain on his front to match Alastor's perfectly. Alastor beamed through his bloody teeth, singing along to the end of the song in a serenade to the angel in his arms.

_**"A smile on my face** _  
_**A song on my lips** _  
_**But never forgetting you** _  
_**I'm painting the town red** _  
_**To hide a heart that's blue."** _

* * *

Inspiration Inception: Got inspiration from this piece of fanart that was in turn inspired by my Dinner Dates series! Ornithia on [Tumblr](https://ornithia.tumblr.com/) and [Pixiv](https://www.pixiv.net/en/users/5140185/artworks)


	2. Mr. Mafioso

A bit inspo of the Roleswap AU me and the Discord fam came up with that we all love and adore! For more on this one, check out [Ask the Swaps](https://askswapangelandal.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, it's pretty great!

"So...tell me dear, what's the deal with the delightful spider?"

Vaggie stared at Al like he'd grown a third antler. "Wait, you've never heard of him before? You've been here longer than ME!" At Alastor's amused smile and uptilt of his shoulder she rolled her eyes. "The Spider Mafioso. The most powerful organized crime boss Hell has ever seen?"

Alastor laughed, leaning back against the couch. "Oh, you know I hardly pay attention to ridiculous overlord politics."

"Ugh," Vaggie groaned; oh, to be successful enough in Hell to not care about anything else. "Decades ago, Anthony manifested in Hell, and within MONTHS had a mafia up and running, dominating and wiping out every other racket around. That kind of organization and power play had NEVER been displayed by a mortal soul before! Then he started striking up contracts with other overlords and even nobility all across Hell with his Web of Influence. Sinners started calling him the Spider Mafioso...unoriginal as that is. Many have speculated but no one really knows how far or how deep his reach really goes, but all I can say is he's a cold, calculating demon from the shadows, and making any sort of dealings with the goddamn mafia is the surest way to see us erased!"

Alastor blinked. "You done?" he asked, grinning as he looked over at Anthony, who ran his finger over a dusty bar appraisingly. "He looks like a walking stick of fluffy cotton candy."

"Well, I don't trust him!" 

"To be fair, do you trust any man, criminal or no?" Alastor's grin widened with victory as she gave him a nasty glare and went to pull Charlie aside for a _tête_ -à- _tête_. He watched as the spider began looking over every nook and cranny of the place, displeasure all over his features. 

Of course, Alastor had been teasing the moth; of course he'd heard of Anthony Ragno, damn near everyone had. Valentino was a big fan of Venom, the hot topic drug produced and controlled by the Ragnos in the first place, mostly for its aphrodisiac use. Val had tried unsuccessfully for YEARS to get a hand in that honeypot, only to be rebuked time and again. Control the supply, control the pricing, and just from Venom alone Anthony had the Lust Circuit bending over and calling him Daddy just for a hit.

As for SEEING the man, that was another case entirely.

And at first glance -seven feet tall, legs for days, sharp dresser, murder in all eight eyes- Alastor had to say...not bad.

Charlie finished her little meeting with Vaggie and walked up to Anthony. "Okay, so...Tony. You're sketchy as fuck and you clearly think what I'm doing here is a big joke -"

"Puttin' words in my mouth but whatever..."

" -but I don't. I think everyone here deserves the chance the prove that they can be better so...I'm taking your offer to help! On the condition that there be no...creepy...Godfather mafia shit going on."

Anthony rolled his eyes, but held out one of his primary hands. "So you'll take my offer of protection then?" 

She and the other two demons swore they saw the pink of his eyes glow and the shadows around them grow darker. Charlie quickly shooed the hand away, shaking her head. "No no, no offers and stuff...um..." She chewed her lip in thought before putting on some nerve. "As Princess of Hell and Heir to the Throne, I hereby order you to help with this Hotel...for as long as you desire."

Vaggie smacked a hand to her face while Alastor bit his lip to keep from laughing. Charlie felt a blush rise to her face. "...sound fair?"

Anthony took another quick peruse of the place. "...fair enough," he said, turning to the other two occupants, eyes landing on Vaggie. "Fix your face, no one will believe you're in this to help them if you look ready to spear them through the ass." He wandered away, not seeing -or rather not caring about- Charlie hurrying over to keep her girlfriend from taking that as a suggestion as he settled his eyes on Alastor. "And what can you bring to the table, Smiles?"

Alastor's grin widened as he gave Anthony a wink. "For two hundred, I can eat your ass," he said, the cannibalism double-entendres he was well known for apparently falling on a dead audience when he saw Anthony's eyes go wide and fur almost poof from shock.

"...yeahno." 

He turned on heel to walk away, and Alastor laughed, leaning his head on his hand. 

This was going to be so much fun.


	3. Happy Deathday to Me

Pulled some inspo from [Ready, Set, Reset](https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/24227779) by DaddySaysBow, a good fic with tender moments. 

**TW, Suicide mention, death reenactment**

Deathdays happened for every sinner, every year.

Just another punishment to heap on, the reminder of where they were and how they got there. Sinners got through it with careful planning and the knowledge that it would end soon and they'd go about the rest of their damnation year.

Some got off lucky. A quick gunshot through the head, died in their sleep, head cracked open on the pavement from a high fall, easy shit to get over with.

Some were not so lucky.

Alastor considered his yearly celebrations a decent enough trade-off for the power he had. 'Suffer in life, be rewarded in the next' wasn't just a reincarnation or Heavenly theory; he'd put in blood, sweat, tears, and a body count he STILL wasn't sure of to make his afterlife one worth living, so the slow, agonizing way he died wasn't something he was QUITE so bitter about.

Dogs, however, would have his eternal ire, and his mouth tasted eternally of late summer bayou water.

It did make him curious about the deathday of his cohorts, however, not that he had to guess much about them.

Once a year, Niffty would lie down and quietly slip into an unwakeable sleep for a few hours; overdose from Quaaludes.

Once a year, Husk would disappear into his room and come back out and head to the bathroom with the back of his head a matted bloody mess to clean, and somewhere on a wall there would be blood and brain matter; death from a suicide shot through his mouth.

In the Hotel, Alastor was curious still about the deathdays of the new sinners he was working with.

He never learned about Vaggie's. He knew the day, but Charlie took her away to deal with it privately and Alastor wasn't THAT gauche to ask about it.

It was late winter, on a night nothing else seemed to happen, that Alastor found another deathday to witness.

He was on nightly room checks, and while at this point the Hotel only had three patrons, he still took his time getting to the fourth floor for the check he liked least of all, but couldn't help his thoughts that drifted to what he knew about the patron in question.

In the beginning, Angel Dust was what everyone thought he'd be; a loud, rude, proud whore and drug addict who was there for free rent. Charlie insisted there was more, and after a few weeks even Vaggie couldn't contradict or deny it. There were layers on layers to peel back that even Alastor and his entourage could see. 

Mannerisms that didn't seem to make much sense otherwise.

Being a touchy affectionate person but loathing hugs. Overdressing when going outside no matter the heat of the time outdoors. During hellstorms he was nowhere to be seen, until a shadow Alastor sent out reported back Angel being buried under a pile of blankets in his closet. 

And absolutely REFUSING to leave the building if Hell froze over at random.

Little things, but nothing to worry about.

Alastor made his check in at Angel's door, knocking softly. No answer. He knocked again, and again no answer. Third time's the charm, and he opened the door, his spiel of "Night check" dying on his throat when he saw Angel on the floor of his bedroom.

The spider was gasping for breath, eyes wide in a blind panic, not even registering Alastor as there when the other demon stepped forward. Despite the room being almost TOO warm even for him, Angel was wearing leggings and a coat, though the shaking of his form looked like shivering as he convulsed and gasped through a seemingly drug-related paralysis.

"Oh dear," Alastor said, shaking his head. "And you were doing so well with your clean drug tests." He stared down with little pity at the spider, watching tears drip out of Angel's eyes as the gasping grew worse and more desperate, the shivering more violent.

Until it stopped.

Angel's eyes glazed over in an almost frightfully human manner.

And when he exhaled, Alastor swore to Kalfu he saw a frosty fog leave Angel's mouth before all was still.

The stillness was a familiar one that seemed too human for comfort in a place like this. This was death. REAL death.

And though he'd tell no one, Alastor wasn't fond of death he himself hadn't been the cause of. He left the room, pacing around the silent halls of the Hotel until his niggling curiosity led him to Charlie's office, having no shame in snooping through Angel Dust's file labeled 'private'. An actual date gave him pause, with it being the current date.

A deathdate.

January 3rd, 1947

Cause of death, a combination of drug overdose from phencyclidine and freezing, brought on by homelessness in a New York winter.

Something no doubt found out from a therapy session with Charlie; perhaps Angel Dust wouldn't fail tomorrow's drug test, he thought, if that episode upstairs was brought on by a deathday experience. It would explain the instinctive need to put on more clothes despite the warm Hell weather.

Pity.

Alastor put the file away, telling himself it was just another deathday, and not his business.

If Angel Dust happened to find a warm knitted comfort blanket next to him when he woke from his deathday reenactment, then what a happy coincidence that would be.


	4. First Time Can Get Messy

Hell had been a first for many things in Alastor's afterlife. Utilizing power. Being praised and revered for his homicidal tendencies. Trying Mandarin food for the first time.

THIS, after almost ninety years of death, was entirely new.

"You ready, Al?"

Alastor took a deep breath and exhaled, his smile still in place. "Ready," he said.

"...if you're NOT ready, you know you can back out -"

"I'm not backing out. I've made up my mind, and this is what I'm going to do."

"Alright then." Angel made a move to get closer before he paused. "...if it helps, close your eyes."

"What?"

"Y'know what, it WILL help if you close your eyes. Trust me."

Alastor huffed; two of the most ridiculous words to speak in Hell, but in this particular case, he was sure Angel was the knowledgeable one and did hold the cards of expertise. He closed his eyes, ears flicking at ever little rustle of moment, skin prickling and jumping at the barest brush of hands and fur. 

"...alright. Y' ready?"

Alastor swallowed hard. 

"Ready."

There was a quick sharp rip, and his eyes snapped open as he bolted upright, hands flying to his chest.

"LAND SAKES ALIVE -!"

"Oh stop being such an old man!" Angel snorted, holding up a strip of waxing cloth that now had a tidy rectangle of red fur on it. "I've had men get this much yanked off of their ass without so much whining, now lie back down, we've got more to do."

Alastor's ears flattened on his head, glaring at the pot of melted wax on the table. "I retract my deal."

"Can't do that, we shook on it."

"I'll cut off my hand."

"Smiles, lie the fuck back down and get it over with or I'll tell ALL of Hell on my vlog about how the big bad Radio Demon pussed out after the first strip of manscaping!"

Alastor hissed. "How much more are you even going to DO!?" 

"Whole chest."

"...I would rather kiss Vox full on the mouth."

"Vox doesn't have a mouth, now lie back down and grow a pair before I bring out the ball gag."

"You said I could back out!"

Angel snorted. "Okay fine, sure, if you want a rectangle of fur just...missing. All it takes is one good prank at a dinner party for everyone to see."

"...goddamn you."

Yes, Alastor could have gone for the rest of eternity without ever trying some things for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The other side of the deal was Angel getting his chest fur trimmed down. Boys and their stupid bets.


	5. Five Feet Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit longer one, with two alternating POVs

If there was one thing Angel Dust understood and respected, it was boundaries.

A rarity in Hell (both respect and boundaries), but it was what made him more beloved a name at the Porn Studio than most thought. Even some demons coming in for a hardcore time with a softcore disposition had Angel catching on and giving them something worth shelling out the money for.

He was more intuitive than most demons gave him credit for, and unlike most in the Lust Circuit, knew that no meant no. He was confident enough in his own beauty and skills to make up for any other demon turning him down, so it was never an issue with him. 

That wasn't to say he dealt plenty with preconceived notions of others', be it from them assuming he was down for anything all the time, or that he would take what he wanted regardless.

Alastor, it seemed, fell into the latter category.

In hindsight, perhaps offering a skittish deer a blowjob was hardly the best first impression. He didn't forget the look on Alastor's face when he proposed it either, like a taught string had been snipped in two with DANGER WILL ROBINSON screeching in the background. While Angel wasn't privy -or cared to be- about Alastor's reputation, he knew for damn sure Alastor knew about his, and became that much more wary about it.

Thus came the Five Foot Rule.

The length of Alastor's microphone between them, or anyone else he wasn't taking the initiative in touching first, at nearly all times. It was something Angel found a bit extreme, but it was also something he saw as a boundary, and one he only had to hear of once before respecting it. Whether it was sitting at Husk's bar, passing one another in the halls, or simply talking, Angel kept that boundary in mind.

Even when he saw that Alastor didn't exactly keep the Five Foot Rule sacred with others.

Yeah, it stung just a little, but hey, that's what a reputation like Angel's got him. But the sting was well worth seeing Alastor's posture cease tensing up whenever he was in the room, relaxing more with genuine humor and ease, getting the deer to talk TO him instead of AT him.

As weeks and months rolled by, the five feet between them hardly felt like a distance. Opposite ends of a couch or the bar or the dining room's dinner table didn't hinder their banter, didn't make their smiles less noticeable. 

Even if it became habit long after ease between them was established.

"Angel dear, would you mind handing me that file?" Alastor asked, holding out his hand while looking over a book of paperwork. Best familiarize himself with it to find a tax loopehole later, he thought, almost missing it when a file was slid across the table to him instead of being put into his hand. 

His smile twitched, looking over at Angel Dust, who had volunteered to help organize paperwork for the evening as a substitute for the godawful attempt at 'therapy' Charlie was trying out. Anything else, so long as he stayed out of trouble, and Alastor found he didn't mind the spider's company. Angel was surprisingly good at this paperwork business anyway.

_"Used to help run books with Pops for a quarter of the city plus sixteen extra city blocks,"_ Angel had said after just a cursory glance at it an hour ago. _"This is nothing."_

Without really thinking about it, Alastor found himself looking at the table they were at. They'd shanghaied the dining room table for this, and while the table itself was quite large, enough seating space and then some for ten people, and the paperwork not taking up THAT much space, he noticed that Angel Dust was sitting three chairs' worth of space away from him.

It was perhaps the first time Alastor felt that the space between them was...spacious. An actual gap that was made all the more apparent with two separate stacks of paperwork that should by all means be put together. He was pretty sure he needed more than half of what was in Angel's pile anyway.

This would not do at all, he thought.

"Why don't you bring that down here, Angel," he said, gesturing to the bare space next to him. He saw Angel's brow furrow -was that a flicker of sadness?- before the spider stood up and pushed the paperwork over to Alastor's side of the table. When Angel did not follow and instead turned to the door, Alastor spoke up. "Where are you going?"

Angel looked back, looking about as confused as Alastor felt. "...whaddya mean?" he asked, gesturing to the paperwork. "You had me give you all th' stuff."

Alastor almost rolled his eyes. "I asked you to bring the work over, not for you to leave," he said. "We're making great progress, why stop now?" He saw Angel's confusion deepen as the spider sat down where he had been. Oh honestly, he thought, holding up a hand to crook his finger, his magic sliding the chair over to a proper closeness for working together. "Much better. Now then..."

It wasn't until they were done that he realized Angel barely moved for the rest of the evening.

Once Alastor noticed the space between them back in the dining room, it seemed to open his eyes to the space between them EVERYWHERE. Always a distance, always just out of reach.

The camaraderie he felt with the spider made him want to close that gap; after all, it was difficult to clink glasses or give a pat on the back or shake hands or even dance with such a space between them. But the moment he took a step forward, Angel Dust seemed to take a step back, keeping the same amount of space between them that had been there since...well, almost the beginning.

Alastor knew and often appreciated the concept of 'respectable distance', but this seemed hardly the case. It wasn't fear, Angel Dust made it clear early on that he didn't fear Alastor. He found Alastor's power more amusing than anything, delighting in the chaos itself. One of the few things they bonded over. But it felt CLOSE to fear.

The empty space was almost like a vacuum, an incompleteness. A source of feeling left out, seeing Angel freely interact with and get close to everyone else, when Alastor could barely get within arm's reach despite very much wishing to do so.

And that just would not do.

Friday nights were 'Community Night', where EVERYONE in the Hotel had to come socialize in the rec room. Even though half of them bitched and complained about it, Angel -and he was sure the other complainers- rather liked it. Games, music, sometimes movies to watch, even if it was slow starting everyone ended up enjoying themselves. 

Activities were picked at random from the fishbowl of paper Charlie kept in her office -after Angel had been caught trying to swap out all of the papers for a stack of his own, all having 'strip poker' written on them. Tonight Charlie reached into the fishbowl, rummaged around, and drew out 'dancing'. 

It wasn't a bad choice, everyone loved dancing to some degree. Alastor offered up his aid in the activity by providing the music, oldie but goodie, to help everyone get into the spirit.

Angel had to admit it was kind of funny watching Charlie and Vaggie try to find a way to dance to it as he sat back to watch, sipping on his Shirley Temple and wishing for a shot of vodka to make it dirty. 

He remembered dancing, back in his heydays of the 30s and 40s. Between the Great Depression and World War II, there was little else to keep one's spirit up. Some of his best nights were spent dressed to the nines in drag with his gentleman of the evening, two queers playing straight as public as they could, having a brief stint of fun before daylight came and they had to shut the closet door again. Hell, even dancing with women wasn't half bad, so long as they kept their hands to themselves. Shame Hell wasn't as keen on it.

A hand entering his line of sight brought him back to the present, looking up to see Alastor smiling at him.

"May I have this dance, my fair gentleman?"

Angel hadn't felt his face go this warm in ages, he thought, flicking his eyes between Al's face and the hand, doing mental acrobatics over what should be an obvious answer before swallowing down his trepidation and nodding. "...sure thing, Al," he said, standing and almost walking AROUND Alastor to get to a proper dancing spot, wondering how he was going to fenangle this out and figuring best he could do was like when he went to a social in secondary school and left 'room for the Holy Spirit' like the Sisters taught everyone...

"A bit difficult to dance that way, dear," Alastor said, bringing him out of his thoughts as he felt one of Alastor's hands take his own, the other holding him around the waist. Both kept Angel in place as Alastor took a step forward, leaving none of that space between them.

This close, Angel could smell Alastor's scent, like spice, fresh dirt, and a hint of blood. He could feel a tiny thrum of power that came from most of Hell's Finest dancing just over Alastor's form, see up close Alastor's pupils were more elliptical than circular, the smile lines on his face...little details he never noticed until now.

Likewise, Alastor felt how soft Angel's fur was, saw the tiniest hint of pale pupils in the spider's secondary eyes, could see that the pink fur patterns on Angel actually shimmered in the right light, how Angel's natural scent was a stinging sweetness, like arsenic-laced candy. So many details he'd missed, and he nearly forgot about the actual dancing part trying to see them all.

"...well," he said, his smile widening. "Isn't this much better?" 

Angel's pink fur spots actually grew brighter.

"...yeah...it is."

There was a certain intimacy to their space, come to find. 

To Angel, it was like being back in Catholic school, having the space with only their eyes and their smiles crossing it with an almost naughty mischief to come later. To Alastor, it was defining proof of respect on Angel's end and restraint on his own.

And to both, it only made it that much more thrilling when they closed the gap on it together in the middle.


	6. Mission: Improbable

"Is the coast clear?"

_"All clear. You should have a clean ten minute timeframe to work with."_

"Gotcha."

Angel Dust crawled through the ancient ventilation system, griping under his breath about the dust clinging to his clothes and fur as he made a mental count of the old grates in the room. One...two...three...four... AH, six, perfect! "Got it," he murmured into his headset. "Damn, it's got screws..."

_"Are they rusted in?"_

"No...they're actually kinda loose." Angel's little Swiss army knife screwdriver was doing the trick easily. "Damn this place sucks..."

_"Focus, Angel, you've only got eight minutes left."_

"Off my ass, Smiles. Why can't you do this again?"

_"They warded off against my magic, I can't even physically get close."_

Angel sighed, finishing unscrewing the second screw and gave an experimental push, grinning when he found the top hatch was hinged. "Yes, got it!" He scurried out of the vent, clinging to the walls with his seldom-used spider attributes before dropping to the floor silently and looking around. "Any idea of where it might be?"

A short stint of thoughtful silence. 

_"Check the bookshelves, or under the desk."_

Angel began doing just that, working quickly brushing his fingers over the books and finding nothing, taking to under the desk next. "Bingo, we've got a safe!" He frowned. "Uh oh."

_"What is it?"_

"It's alphabetically-locked, not numerically."

He was pretty sure he heard Al swear in French under his breath. _"Any ideas?"_

Angel chewed his lip for a moment. "How much time do I have left?"

_"Six at best."_

"Give me five."

Angel cracked two sets of knuckles and slipped his compact out of a pocket, opening it and gently blowing the powder onto the keypad. A-B-I-N-O-R-W were most caked on. Angel rubbed his temple as he thought over it. Damn his dyslexia. 

"Okay, I've got seven letters- "

_"They're coming in early!"_ Alastor snapped. _"Either you've got it or don't."_

"I've got it, I've got it, can you stall!?"

_"No."_

"Fuuuuuck." Angel winced and tapped out the keys in a seven-character sequence twice, getting a negative for them. "Damn damn DAMN- " He paused, then smacked his head and tapped out a third. R-A-I-N-B-O-W. Typical.

The safe beeped and clicked open, and he grabbed the treasure inside before standing and hurrying to the grate. "I've got it, Al, I've got- " His celebrations were cut off when the door opened.

Busted.

Angel Dust picked a cobweb out of his fur, glowering at Alastor. He was still covered in dust, had chores up the ass for a month, and nothing else to show for it. At least Alastor looked just as miserable as he felt.

Charlie crossed her arms, giving the two men in front of her a Disappointed Look. "I'm going to have to hide this again," she said, holding up a bottle of Carolina reaper hot sauce. "I swear this stuff is more tempting than PCP for you two."

Alastor wasn't pouting. He wasn't. "Just because the rest of you can't handle it..." he grumbled. 

"Cut the pranks out for the month, and I'll CONSIDER giving it back."

"...this is completely ridiculous."

"You wanna make it two months, Al?"

Silence.

"Now go help Husk with dinner, we don't need hot sauce, we've got salt and pepper."

Alastor winced as he stood to go get it over with. "I really AM in Hell..."

"I think my nonna is gonna fuckin' drop double-dead outta Heaven for her sayin' that..." Angel concurred.


	7. In Hell, There Are No Happily Ever Afters

"...hey...Al...?"

Silence for a long moment.

"...yes?"

Angel weighed his words in his mouth, trying to keep the hopelessness out of his tone. "...do you think...there's some way we can disappear to th' same place...?"

The pause in response offered no comfort, though Angel didn't expect any. After a few long moments, Angel heard shifting around before he felt fingers reach out and entwine with his own. 

"...it's a nice thought," came Alastor's reply, the radio tin and Transatlantic accent absent. It was so wrong, and so hopeless. Angel hated it. "...I s'pose...we can only dream..."

Angel dropped his head back on the asphalt, tears overflowing and dripping down his face. "...it ain't fair..." he whimpered, closing his eyes. "It ain't FAIR..." He felt the fingers in his own tighten almost comfortingly, though it did little to actively comfort him. "...I...I wanted to tell you..."

"Hush, sha, y' don't have t' say it..."

"No I DO, I just...I wanted...MORE...I wanted t' keep livin', even if -" He broke off to cough up blood.

"Angel -"

" -if it was Hell, I want..." Angel broke off into sobs, feeling more blood come up. "I don't wanna go, Al! I don't wanna GO!" He broke into a coughing fit that he was sure to knock the rest of his life out quicker. He barely heard Alastor struggle along the ground to get closer before the deer couldn't anymore, instead tightening his hold on Angel's hand.

Angel's coughing subsided, even as his breathing shallowed and vision began to darken. "...I'm scared..." 

The hand around his own tightened weakly. "...at least...y'won't be in Hell no more," Alastor said quietly. "...yer too soft fo' this place anyways..." He let out a wet bark of laughter at his weak jab. "...gon' miss talkin' to ya...cookin' wit' ya...never did give me ya mama's tiramisu recipe...how much espresso went into it again...?" The forced smile on his face faltered at the silence. "...Angel...?"

The hand in his own was cold.

"...oh..." 

He closed his own eyes, feeling the smile that Hell forced him to always wear finally begin to drop. He never felt more relief or more fear without having it than he ever had. At least Angel hadn't seen it fade, he thought, pressing his head to the ground and closing his eyes. 

What a nice thought it was, being in the same vacuum of nothingness that awaited Exterminated sinners. Certainly, he wouldn't have minded sharing it with Angel Dust in the end.

Charlie screamed when she saw them. 

Angel Dust had been pierced through four times through the abdomen, sprawled back and dying where he dropped. Alastor was missing his left arm, a smear trail of blood showing he had lived long enough to crawl to Angel and reach for his hand before succumbing to the spear through his back.

She'd actively prayed that there was something she could do for them, some small spark of soul left to work with, but they were empty shells, long cold and bled out by the time she had found them. She'd never know how or why they had been caught out there. She honestly didn't care. Two of the people she cared most for in this world were gone.

Charlie refused to let their bodies be put in the mass burn piles or, Hell forbid, part of the cannibal buffet line. She brought their bodies back to the Hotel and stoically grabbed a shovel to dig up the barren back garden to give them a proper burial. Unbidden, she recalled that neither received proper rites. A homosexual drug addict and a serial killer, put into pauper's graves, unmarked. Even if she were to go up top and look in every New York City or New Orleans graveyard, she'd never find them.

This grave would be proper. It would be dignified, and it would be marked. So long as she lived, there would be a marker of some kind here. 

Her father would have called it a waste of power, but she expended all she could into healing their wounds, cleaning skin and fur, putting them in new, clean versions of their favorite outfits. It might've been her own grief, but she didn't let anyone else help. This was her responsibility. It was illogical, but very much how she felt.

About as illogical as putting them in the same coffin, thinking that she didn't want them to be lonely. Just from the stories her parents told her, what awaited sinners after Erasure was nothingness. If they were together when they died, stayed together now...then maybe...

It was that small sliver of wishful thinking that kept her going as she piled dirt on top of the coffin, filling the hole up entirely before sitting down hard, her grief overwhelming her.

They, Angel Dust at very least, strove for redemption, only to be struck down so cruelly by the Exterminators.

After seeing them both improve, grow kinder and friendly with each other, and even see looks of a blossoming romance pass between them. 

Now it was nothing.

Charlie hugged her knees, pressing her face into her arms as her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

Dad was right, she thought with a broken heart. 

There were no happily ever afters in Hell.

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"Well that was certainly something to see!"

Anthony's head snapped to the side, his rain-matted hair half-obscuring the one good eye he had left. The street light from around the corner barely made the silhouette of a man standing under an umbrella. A witness. Goddamn it. He kicked away the man that just dropped, pointing his stiletto knife at the stranger while his free hand trailed to the handgun he kept hidden as a last resort.

"You got a death wish, _stronzo_?" he asked through his teeth. "Who ya with, coppers?"

The stranger gave an odd staged laugh. "Oh heavens no, not at all!" Anthony could see the barest outline of a head tipping with almost amused curiosity. "It's just an interesting tourist experience to see a gutting gone in the near-open instead of deep in the woods like I'm used to! Why, yesterday I even saw copulation barely two feet from the sidewalk in an alleyway, how novel!"

Anthony scowled, lowering his hand from his gun but keeping his knife at the ready. "...you insane or somethin'?"

"That's at best what the reports say back home!" the man chirped cheerfully. "I decided to take a vacation after they found the body the lazy alligators should have taken care of. Cool the trail a bit, you see. But I'm glad that I have SOMETHING in common with the Yankees, makes my vacation that much more entertaining!"

Yeah, definitely insane, Anthony thought, lowering his knife. But then again, he'd escaped from the loonie bin six weeks ago, so who was he to judge. "...good to know," he said, reaching down to grab the stiff's wallet and look through it, his good eye shining at the decent amount of cash he saw. "Jackpot, papa's not sleepin' in th' streets tonight!" He tossed the wallet to the side, only to jump with a near-anxiety attack when the man strolled forward in three strides of long legs to grab the wallet instead.

"Never leave your evidence behind!" the man said in a tone a parent might take to a child in a teaching moment. "If you can't dispose of the body, make sure you weren't there." He hummed to himself, pocketing the wallet himself. "If you're not busy, since it IS still early enough, would you mind showing me anyplace decent to eat? I'm a nightowl by nature, and I can't seem to find anywhere good on my own." In the dim light, Anthony could see a smile. "I'll treat you as a thank you."

Living on the streets this long at least told Anthony to never turn down free food. "Yeah, sure," he said, stepping out of the alleyway with the stranger, blinking with surprise when the man adjusted the umbrella to cover them both. "...thanks." He looked up when they passed a streetlight.

Softly tanned skin, finely-coiffed dark brown hair, and large, expressive russet eyes behind pence-nez, paired perfectly with the widest, most unnervingly charming smile Anthony had ever seen on a man.

And godDAMN was he handsome.

"Oh, where are my manners!" the man said, a mad glint in his eyes that reminded Anthony that he was in the company of -possibly- a runaway serial killer; not that he was that nervous, he was born into a family of them. "I'm Alastor!"

Anthony gave a tentative smile back. "...Anthony. Johns call me 'Angel' though."

"How charming!" Alastor said. "Though for anonymity's sake, I suppose you'd prefer Angel. Well then, Angel!" He gestured out to the open street with his free hand. "Show the way for a good meal with good company!"

Anthony snorted softly; best company he'd had in forever, at least. "You got it, Smiles."

**There were no happily ever afters in Hell.**

**But Hell never said there weren't any do-overs until the universe gave it to them anyway.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The year is 1932.
> 
> Alastor, age 33, made the decision to 'vacation' for a spell instead of staying home and having more criminal evidence point his way.
> 
> Anthony, age 19, was on his own after escaping the psychiatric hospital, and found just before he turned to PCP to help forget his lot in life.
> 
> Maybe things will be different now.


End file.
